Today is my anniversary.
It marks 19 years since we were married.
And we have finally started court proceedings to finish this divorce.
I was thinking back on the day we said,”I do.”
(which is something people tell me I’ll stop doing… eventually)
Anyway, I was thinking,
I had zero hesitation that day.
I wasn’t worried he wasn’t the man I thought he’d be.
I wasn’t worried I wasn’t the wife he wanted.
I wasn’t worried the life we’d planned wasn’t what we both wanted.
I was certain I was marrying “the love of my life” –
my soul mate.
Of course, I was basing everything I knew about marriage, and love, and commitment by the lives I saw around me…
my grandparents, my parents, my cousins and sister,
I was thinking of the “fantasy” marriage I watched played out as a child on TV.
I’d be June Cleaver.
He’d be Ward.
And our kids would be happy, and silly, and get into trouble,
and at the end of the day
we would all laugh and go to bed feeling blessed and in love.
Ward never showed up.
And I’ll be the first to admit,
I’m no June Cleaver.
The kids were happy, and silly, and got into trouble
but I hardly handled those problems like June would
because at the end of the night,
I was usually still alone.
June had Ward.
I had an empty bed.
And night after night,
year after year,
life got lonely.
And I wanted to be missed.
And wanted the kids to be missed.
Like we missed him.
And he didn’t.
Today is our anniversary.
And you’d think it should hit me harder than it is.
But the truth is,
I’ve been celebrating year after year alone for so long that frankly,
it’s a bit of a relief to finally admit,
my marriage was over before it ever started.